I can hear my own breaths and my own heart beating,
And the faraway singing of the mountains--
The sweetest lullaby.
The air is crisp,
So sharp it might shatter
With every cloudy exhale.
I squint to see because of the brightness
Of the sky, the unbroken snow, the blank paper in front of me.
The spruce trees are covered in blankets of white
Like elegant dancers in extravagant gowns.
I breathe once more and let the warm air go,
A puffy cloud that rises but does not disperse.
I can hardly move in my bulky clothes, so I sit still and wait.
What for, I don't know.
The coldness seeps in from every corner
But time seems to be standing still.
Calm and serene.
The apricity never quite reached me
As I surveyed the winter scene.
But all at once a thought struck me
And I picked up my pen.